


Prom Is Serious Business

by espetrell



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, beware of extreme fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:41:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espetrell/pseuds/espetrell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is determined to ask Enjolras to prom. To everyone's surprise, he accepts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was the last Monday in March, and the excitement at Musain High School was palpable, even thirty minutes before school was set to begin. The first weekend in April meant prom weekend at MHS, and though its student body was small (with only a couple hundred students), prom was serious business. Although girls began making lists of “taken” boys weeks beforehand, the beginning of the week before prom meant the official beginning of prom preparations. The students constantly tried to outdo each other in an unofficial competition to ask their dates out to the dance in the most extravagant way possible.

Thirty minutes before school began was the habitual meeting time of MHS Student Council, which among other things organized the prom. The close group of 9 senior boys were assembled in front of the wooden double doors of the school gym, watching as two of their members strung up a large poster proclaiming that PROM = APRIL 6 IN THIS VERY GYM. BE THERE OR BE SQUARE. “Courfeyrac! Hold up your corner and stop waving at freshman girls!” Feuilly yelled from across the doors as he tried to balance himself on his ladder, hold up his corner of the poster and untangle a roll of duct tape all at the same time. Courfeyrac reluctantly turned back to his work and secured the poster. “Grantaire!” he called. “Does this look straight to you?”

Grantaire stepped a little further back, craning his neck to study the poster. As the designated best artist of the group, he had been accorded the high honor of creating the sign. “Looks great to me!” he called back. Stepping back once more to double-check, he started as he bumped into someone else. Turning around, he beheld a smiling Enjolras, the Student Council President. Grantaire’s breath caught. “Nice work on the sign. See you later, I’ve got to go get my binders from my locker,” Enjolras said over his shoulder as he walked down towards the classrooms. Grantaire stared after him, watching him go, until he was pulled back into the real world by a snickering Bahorel.

“Ah, did Enjolras descend from up on high to give lowly you a compliment?” Bahorel asked, ducking to avoid a swipe from Grantaire. Bahorel was Grantaire’s closest friend, so he didn’t take his teasing too seriously. Grantaire had had a massive crush on Enjolras since freshman year, and it was common knowledge to almost the whole school, with the exception of Enjolras himself. Enjolras was the kind of student who was too focused on academics and responsibility to stoop to the level of mere human relationships, and was blind to the fact that he had ardent admirers. His natural blonde-hair-blue-eyes beauty meant that those admirers included most of the girls in the whole school. Though he always let himself be dragged along to dances and the prom, with the excuse that it would let him preside over the events he had planned, he never did so with a date. No one had worked up the courage to ask him out, not since Josephine had tried in sophomore year. The rather cruel rejection had scared off Josephine and anyone else who fancied him.

But this was Enjolras’ senior year. And Grantaire’s. Grantaire was pretty sure that Enjolras didn’t actually like him, seeing as he only really showed up to their Student Council meetings to doodle on event posters and argue with Enjolras about current events. Still, although Grantaire had not told anyone yet, he had sworn to himself that he would work up the courage to ask Enjolras to the dance this year. It was worth a shot, wasn’t it? He asked Bahorel about it on their way to Bio some minutes later. When Bahorel had stopped laughing, he said, “No, bro, are you serious? I mean, I get it, but he might shut you down.”

Grantaire pulled a face. That had been the reaction he was expecting. “No, no, I’ve got a plan,” he explained.

Bahorel frowned. “What, are you gonna lie to him?”

“No, no. I’m just…ah, I don’t know,” Grantaire waffled, embarrassed. Bahorel lifted his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“It’s cool, man. You know what, how about you don’t tell me? Keep it a surprise?”

“Keep what a surprise?” Combeferre said from inside the door of the classroom as they approached them. Combeferre was Treasurer of the Student Council and Enjolras’ close friend since elementary school. A straight-A student, he was always the most collected of the group and filled a role within it as the voice of reason. He would either be the best or the worst person for Grantaire to consult about his dilemma.“Look, I’ll tell you later,” Grantaire compromised as the teacher walked through the door. Class went by in a blur, and before he knew it he was standing outside the door with Bahorel and Combeferre, explaining his plan to them. When he had finished, Combeferre was silent for a moment. Then he spoke.

“Look, you don’t talk to Enjolras much yourself. But I know he likes you.” Grantaire raised his eyebrows, but before he could interject Combeferre continued. “If he didn’t like you, he would kick you out. Remember Marius?”

Grantaire did remember Marius. Marius was a year younger than them and probably only joined Student Council to claim to his grandfather that he was involved in school activities. To Enjolras’ horror, his response to plans of organizing a better pep rally was that the other school was obviously better than them in football and didn’t merit a pep rally before the game. While this was admittedly true, his various petty annoyances, chief of which being his tendency to skip meetings to make out with his girlfriend Cosette, had prompted Enjolras to ask him to leave.

“Yeah, but-“

“I think he almost likes it that you contradict him all the time. He acts super annoyed, but it gives him a challenge, which he likes. I don’t know if any of this means that he might agree, but it’s something.”

“Yeah,” said Grantaire, elated. “Thanks, ‘Ferre.” And with that, Combeferre and Bahorel left for their next class, leaving Grantaire standing in the middle of the hall. Maybe he _did_ have a chance after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *strangled scream* It's been actual months since I started this fic, and now it's finally posted! It gets better as it goes on, I swear! Hope you like shamelessly adorably awkward teenage E/R.
> 
> Also, I apologize for being unkind to Marius. I love him. Don't hurt me.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire became increasingly antsy as lunch approached. He knew that he had to act fast before someone else asked Enjolras themselves. Even though it was unlikely he would accept their request (or his own, for that matter), he couldn’t take that chance. At lunch there was to be a Student Council meeting to assign duties for the prom, and although Grantaire would have liked to ask Enjolras in private, having the rest of the gang to back him up would be helpful. Even in art, his favorite class, he had difficulty focusing. When the bell rang for lunch, Grantaire bolted out of his chair and headed for the empty classroom they used as a meeting place, not even bothering to pick up lunch.

He had been in a classroom further than most from the meeting room, so when he got there most of the Student Council had already arrived. Enjolras was sitting in his usual chair, too absorbed in his textbook to pay Grantaire much attention. But the rest of the group, though obviously attempting to remain indiscreet, lowered their voices to whispers and threw him significant looks every once in a while. Taking a seat between Courfeyrac and Jehan, he couldn’t stop his foot from tapping in anxiety. Fortunately, the meeting soon began, and responsibilities was divided between managing snack tables within the gym and watching the gym door, as well as other miscellaneous tasks. What usually would have been a mildly boring sort of meeting seemed to take forever for Grantaire, who found himself with no obligations besides helping students to park if the lot filled up. The meeting, as expected, took less time than the allotted lunch time, so some people pulled out homework due in the next period or as-yet-uneaten cafeteria food. Grantaire swallowed and walked up to Enjolras, who wasn’t doing anything in particular. Good.

“Hey, Enjolras? I needed to tell you something,” he began. Enjolras looked up at him in slight confusion, and the heads of the rest of the group members snapped up in anticipation. Grantaire tried to keep his anxiety from showing. He had planned this out, and god damn it, it was going to _work_. He automatically glanced over at Bahorel, who gave him a thumbs-up. He smiled wider, feeling a bit more courageous.

“I was talking to the assistant principal last week,” he continued. Contrary to Bahorel’s assumptions, this was not a lie - Grantaire had gone and talked to the rather severe Miss Baptistine himself the previous Thursday. The conversation was what had given him the idea for his plan. “And I asked her what would happen if I brought a boy to prom.” Grantaire faltered here, because Enjolras’ eyebrows had furrowed slightly and he had murmured something that sounded like “ _oh_.” “And…and she said something to the effect of ‘there are conservative elements of this school who would be uncomfortable with that so I don’t think I can let you’ or some shit and-“

“What the _hell_?” Enjolras was now giving Grantaire his full attention. One of the things that Grantaire loved most about Enjolras, even if it sometimes frustrated him, was his ability to become passionately infuriated about practically anything related to social justice. Grantaire wasn’t paying too close attention, but he could have sworn he heard Bossuet whisper to Joly, “ooooh, I see where he’s going with this.” Whatever Bossuet had said, it earned him a stern glance and a finger to the lips from Joly.

“How could they tell you that? I thought Miss Baptistine was better than that, and she got so pissed off when she caught Madeleine and Jondrette kissing that one time, didn’t she…It’s bigoted!” Enjolras ranted, incensed. Grantaire felt his cheeks beginning to get warmer in mere anticipation of where his conversation was going. But he had already started on this path, and there was no turning back.

“I completely agree, of course, and I was super mad. So I went to talk to the guy I was thinking of going with, and he got all pissed off and said he wouldn’t go to my prom with me if that was going to be the attitude.” This was a lie; he had never considered anyone other than Enjolras, and the statement earned him an eyebrow raise from Jehan and skeptical looks from a couple others. Grantaire was banking on Enjolras having heard enough rumors to know that he was gay, but not enough to know that Enjolras was really the only person he had ever been romantically interested in. It seemed to have worked, because Enjolras was scowling now, looking completely indignant on Grantaire’s behalf. It was quite heartening.

“See, the thing is, I - we - I need to do something to…protest against that. Because that is bullshit.” Grantaire knew there was nothing Enjolras liked as much as the idea of protesting against injustice, and his knowledge was confirmed when Enjolras nodded and said, “Definitely. We can’t just let that pass.” A moment of silence, then Enjolras continued, “What can…do you have an idea for how to do that?”

"Here’s the thing,” Grantaire answered after another pause, “I need to bring along a guy as my date so I can give the administration a big fuck-you and also, you know, have a date to prom. So I, uh, need a date. To prom.” Enjolras had obviously not gotten it yet, because his face still showed an emotion halfway between thoughtful and confused. Grantaire was sure that this time he heard Courfeyrac mutter, “Jeez, how oblivious can you be?” True to his words, Enjolras did not seem to hear him. After a reasonable enough pause to see if Enjolras would figure it out, Grantaire gave up and blurted out, “Enjolras-would-you-please-go-to-prom-with-me?”

The room was silent, with all eyes fixed on Enjolras. Enjolras’ eyes had widened ever so slightly and he stared at Grantaire for an instant. Grantaire had already begun to wince prematurely for the onslaught that he was about to receive when Enjolras spoke in a softer voice than usual.

“Okay.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to begin apologizing before he realized what Enjolras had said. It was a struggle for him not to leave his jaw dropped, but he managed to keep a straight face. This was not true of some of the others, Joly in particular.

“Are you serious?” Grantaire finally asked.

“Yeah?” said Enjolras, with a touch of hesitation. He abruptly stood up, and sweeping his books up in his arms he headed for the door, saying in his usual loud tones, “Well, great, I need to go to class now or else I’ll be late.” The sound of the door closing broke the stunned silence of the room.

“Holy _fuck_!” said Bahorel in delight.

More worryingly, Jehan turned to Joly and declared in delight, “YOU OWE ME TWENTY DOLLARS GIVE THEM TO ME RIGHT NOW.”

“Wait, _what_?” said Grantaire, more than a little overwhelmed.

“ _You smooth bastard!_ ” said Courfeyrac with what seemed to be genuine awe. “I don’t know how the hell you managed that!”

“Huh?” said Grantaire, not over it yet.

“I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but did any of you check the clock? Enjolras has got at least 10 minutes to walk to class. There’s no way he can’t make it in time.” Combeferre pointed out, stopping the chatter.

“ _Shit_ ,” said Grantaire, suddenly terrified.

“So that either means he’s flustered because he regrets it or because he’s flattered that Grantaire _asked him out holy shit_ ,” mused Courfeyrac.

“Don’t worry, Grantaire, I’d bet you money that it’s probably the latter.” Jehan assured him, the calming effect of which was slightly dampened by Joly’s mutter, “ _He already has, though._ ”

“Okay, did you completely bullshit that or what?” asked Bossuet, who apparently hadn’t been filled in on all the details by the gossip chain. “Because _I_ would bet money you didn’t ask out another guy. Because _come on_.”

“I didn’t,” admitted Grantaire, “but the rest was true, I swear. Baptistine told me not to go to the prom with a dude.”

“Wow. You know what, Grantaire?” said Combeferre broodingly, “This is going to be one of the weirdest proms this school has ever seen.”

“I am still not entirely believing that he actually said yes, though. He actually said yes?” Grantaire said, not over it yet.

“Grantaire, relax. You and Enjolras are going to prom together. You are entirely allowed to squeal, cry, or stand on the roof and yell it out to the whole school.” Bahorel reassured him.

"Oh, god, no. But I am not over this yet.” said Grantaire. The ringing bell startled him.

“Man, I guess now it _is_ time to go to class,” Joly said, standing up. The rest followed suit and began moving towards the door, except Grantaire, who had apparently forgotten how legs worked. Bossuet reached over and grabbed his arm, dragging him over to the door.

“Come on, I’ve got Algebra II with you, how about being on time for once?” And with that they left the room.


	3. Chapter 3

After Algebra II was a history class that Grantaire just happened to share with Enjolras. When Grantaire entered the classroom, Enjolras was already there, as usual. Enjolras looked up from his textbook, smiled quickly, and bent back down. Grantaire thought he saw Enjolras’ ears turn slightly red, but he dismissed it as wishful thinking. He sat down at his chair on the opposite side of the room from Enjolras and started doodling in the margins of his lecture notes. He had almost forgotten about the whole I-am-going-to-go-out-with-freaking-Enjolras-holy-cow affair when he heard a loud “Hey!”

Looking around to see who had spoken, he saw a senior girl whose name he never managed to catch (Magnon? Magliore?) standing in front of a baffled Enjolras. Grantaire felt a bit sorry for Enjolras; first he had heckled him, now this girl. The girl leaned forward, resting her elbows on Enjolras’ desk, and Enjolras automatically leaned away from her a little. _Worse response than I got_ , thought Grantaire, resisting the urge to smirk.

“ _Enjolras,_ ” said the girl in a tone best described as cooing, “I would be _delighted_ if you would let me go to prom with you.”

There was a pause. Enjolras’ response was unexpected, even to Grantaire.

“Nope, sorry, I’ve already got a date,” said Enjolras, with no anger but with the most smugness Grantaire had ever heard him use, and Grantaire had known him for four years. The class’ reaction was immediate and explosive. Little could be clearly heard from the cacophony of sound, but the common question seemed to be “WHO?”

“Not telling,” said Enjolras in a practically sing-song tone. His smug smirk had become a grin, and Grantaire could not conceal a small chuckle of delight. Of course, he immediately regretted it when all eyes turned towards him. Everyone realized, seemingly at the same time, that Grantaire had not been among the loud voices questioning Enjolras, and the conclusion was easy to piece together from there.

“You didn’t!” one of the boys in the class exclaimed, and the rest of the class erupted. No one had the chance to get very far before the classroom door opened and the teacher yelled out, “BE QUIET, EVERYONE! WHAT IN THE WORLD IS THE MATTER?”

Everyone fell silent instantly, because Mr. Mabeuf, although not necessarily mean, was not a teacher to be messed with. He was the kind of teacher who counted you late if you were in the classroom when the bell rang but had not made it to your chair yet. No one volunteered the information, so Mr. Mabeuf turned on Enjolras.

“Enjolras? You’re as red in the face as if you’d run a mile. What the hell is going on?” Grantaire saw to his mixed delight and fear that Enjolras was indeed blushing. So his earlier observation had not been wrong, then. Enjolras stared very intently at his pencil and said, “Um.”

Magnon or Magliore or whoever had decided that she was too indignant to let this revelation slide. “Enjolras is taking a date to prom this year. Apparently, _he’s going with Grantaire_ ,” she stressed dramatically. There was a pause as the class watched Mr. Mabeuf raise his eyebrows and look back and forth between Enjolras and Grantaire, neither of whom looked innocent enough to be able to feasibly deny it. Finally, Mr. Mabeuf’s eyes locked onto Grantaire’s.

“Nice, Grantaire. I think this merits a reprieve from the pop quiz I was about to give the rest of the class.” And with a way-too-knowing smile, he pulled out a stack of papers from inside his desk and began passing them out, ignoring the groans of the rest of the class and skipping over Enjolras and Grantaire. Enjolras treated Grantaire to a dazzling smile and Grantaire was sure his heart had skipped a beat.

 

* * *

 

 

"Combeferre!” Enjolras called across the hallway, resolutely ignoring the whispers that followed in his wake. Grantaire had immediately left after Mr. Mabeuf’s lecture was over, presumably too embarrassed to stay and make small talk. Enjolras _completely_ understood.

“Enjolras! Dude! I heard about Mabeuf’s class!” Combeferre said joyfully, falling into step next to Enjolras as they walked towards Combeferre’s locker.

“I studied for that quiz,” murmured Enjolras in annoyance, resulting in a laugh from Combeferre.

“But seriously, Enjolras, you said yes to Grantaire? I’m shocked. Ecstatic, but shocked.” Combeferre continued, still sounding like he wanted to laugh.

Enjolras ran a hand through his hair. “Well, what he told me was, in his words, ‘bullshit,’” he began. They had reached Combeferre’s locker, and Combeferre paused in trying to open the lock to put his hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. Enjolras realized that that was not a good sign.

“Look,” Combeferre said, “Why do you think Grantaire asked you? And not, for example, Courfeyrac? Courf would go to prom with anyone who asked.”

“Because he knew that I would be the most outraged about the rejection?” Enjolras said hesitantly. Combeferre gave him a Significant Look. Definitely not a good sign.

“We both know that’s not true. He really, really likes you, you know. He would probably kill me for telling you, but he does.” Enjolras considered that for a moment. He had to begrudgingly admit to himself that he hadn’t spared much thought for Grantaire, busy as he always was with college apps and clubs and academics and all the rest. Grantaire did show up to all the meetings despite seemingly not caring for administrative issues, and Enjolras had occasionally wondered why he came at all. Now that he thought about it, hadn’t the only times  that Grantaire hadn’t come to meetings been the times that he couldn’t come himself? He posed the question to Combeferre.

“Yeah. I mean, if you want to talk to Bahorel about Grantaire, I’m sure he would be happy to, but I don’t know how much there is to say.” Combeferre had by this point managed to open his locker and remove his necessary textbooks. Enjolras looked inside, at the faded Harry Potter poster and the omnipresent cup of Starbucks coffee, mostly as an excuse not to look Combeferre in the eye.

“I don’t know what will happen if my parents find out,” said Enjolras in a lower voice. Combeferre grimaced in sympathy.

“Just say you’re going with Grantaire as a friend.”

“I thought the whole point was opposing the homophobes of our community…” murmured Enjolras.

“You can’t win every battle. You’ve got one more year and you’re rid of them forever.” Combeferre finally decided it was time to remove his hand from Enjolras’ shoulder, and suddenly Enjolras wished it was still there. “Just have fun at prom with Grantaire, and Enjolras? Give the boy a chance. You’ve been avoiding each other like the plague all day.”

“Okay,” said Enjolras quietly, “Thanks, ‘Ferre. You’re the best.”

“That’s what best friends are for,” said Combeferre with a soft smile, leaving Enjolras and entering his next class. Enjolras sighed and started walking to his own next subject, trying very hard not to think too hard about Grantaire and dances, just wishing the day was done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I forget to mention that all the names are from minor characters from Hugo's Les Mis? I think I did. There was going to be a chapter where Enjolras told Grantaire what the girl's name actually was but it was completely pointless so this is what you're getting. Thanks for all the love, readers! I've already got all the chapters written so I'll post them as quick as I can for you all!


	4. Chapter 4

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Enjolras hovered in the doorway of Assistant Principal Baptistine’s office. Miss Baptistine looked up from her computer and gave him a tight smile. “Enjolras. Good to see you. How are you?” she asked, closing her laptop.

“I’m doing well, thank you,” Enjolras replied, a bit of shortness leaking into his answer. He only had a couple minutes until his next class and had no time for small talk. Miss Baptistine seemed to get the hint, changing topics.

“I’ll go out on a limb and guess that you’re here about prom.”

“You guessed right. Grantaire asked me to go to prom with him and-“

“I know. He told me he was going to ask you. I told him not to, but, well…” She shrugged. Enjolras frowned slightly. Something about her statement seemed off to him. He could not pinpoint the problem so, after a short pause, he continued on.

“What gives you the right to prevent same-sex couples from going to prom together?”

Miss Baptistine pursed her lips, leaning forward. Enjolras felt his temper flare at the annoyance that crossed her face.

“Most of the student body of the school seem to forget that although this school is not technically religiously affiliated, Musain was created on a strong Catholic basis.”

“And why should that matter?” Enjolras said aggressively. A bit too aggressively, actually. Remembering that he also had an obligation not to antagonize the administration, he took a steadying breath and continued. “Going to prom with someone is a personal choice and an expression of identity. You can’t just stifle that.”

Miss Baptistine began to speak, but Enjolras suddenly wasn’t listening to her. Grantaire’s words had come back to him, perfectly remembered, “I went to talk to the guy I was thinking of going with, and he got all pissed off and said he wouldn’t go to my prom with me.” Presumably when Grantaire had asked Miss Baptistine “what would happen if I brought a boy to prom,” he had asked about bringing the guy (perhaps Grantaire’s boyfriend?). But Miss Baptistine had said that Grantaire had asked about Enjolras. Had Grantaire never intended to ask anyone out but Enjolras? Had he _lied_ to Enjolras?

Enjolras snapped back to the conversation as Miss Baptistine finished a rant about Christian principles with, “…a private school is allowed to make these decisions about what to permit.”

“This isn’t a battle the school can win.” Enjolras said, crossing his arms, “It’s a question of basic rights. It would be very simple to just let us go and be done with it, but if you want to make it difficult…”

“ _I_ don’t want to make this difficult. Did Grantaire tell you what I told him?”

“Conservative elements of the school would disapprove?”

“Basically. Well, when I said that, I was thinking of two people. The school board, and your parents, Enjolras.” She had scored a hit, and Enjolras groaned under his breath. “Even if the school allows you two to go together, your parents won’t. Are you really sure you want to go through with this?”

Enjolras took a moment to give the question proper thought. But it didn’t take him long to nod his head curtly. Miss Baptistine sighed.

“Go to class, Enjolras, you’re going to be late. I need to talk to some other administrators about the situation. I’ll email you.”

Seeing that there was nothing more to be said and there were only three minutes to class, Enjolras turned on his heel and stalked out of the office. As an afterthought, he called out “Thanks” over his shoulder. Inwardly fuming, he made his way to his first class. “I _definitely_ need to have a talk with Grantaire,” he murmured crossly.

 

* * *

 

 

Grantaire sat in the Student Council meeting room, eating a tuna salad sandwich from the cafeteria and kicking his legs back and forth under the table. He’d gotten out of class five minutes before it technically ended because he’d finished a quiz early, and he was looking forward to catching Enjolras before anyone else showed up to the lunch meeting. Sure enough, the door soon opened and Enjolras entered. But something was wrong - Enjolras’ eyes were dark with anger, which only became more pronounced when he saw Grantaire sitting at the table. Grantaire swallowed his sandwich hastily.

“Did you talk to Miss Baptistine?” Grantaire guessed nervously.

“Yeah. As a matter of fact, I did.” Enjolras sounded seriously pissed off. “By the way, I have a question for you.”

“Mhm?” Grantaire was definitely uneasy.

“The guy you said you were planning on taking to prom but wouldn’t? Who was that?”

“…Why do you ask?”

Enjolras scowled even more in response to the question. “Miss Baptistine mentioned no such other person. She implied that you asked her about taking _me_ to prom.” Raising his eyebrows, he looked at Grantaire expectantly, waiting for an answer. Grantaire swallowed again, even though he no longer had anything in his mouth.

“ _Well_. About the other guy. He didn’t really-“

“Yes or no, Grantaire.” Enjolras’ eyes blazed. Grantaire inwardly winced; he was really in for it. Enjolras continued, his voice louder, “Was there actually another guy.” For a brief moment, Grantaire considered continuing to defend the lie, then realized how terrible an idea that would be. He silently shook his head no, avoiding Enjolras’ piercing gaze.

“But why would you even _say_ that?” Enjolras looked genuinely appalled, and Grantaire felt a stab of guilt. “What did you even have to gain?”

“I just wanted…” Grantaire desperately looked for a reasonable excuse and came up with nothing. Feeling like a complete ass, he tried again, “I thought-“

“You _thought_ that if you came up with the perfect story, I would feel so sorry for you that I’d do anything you asked?”

“Enjolras, I-“

“You _thought_ that if you got me to agree to a different situation than what was actually true it wouldn’t matter? And before you say it doesn’t,” Enjolras pointed accusingly at Grantaire, who had opened his mouth to object, “It absolutely does, and you know that. There are different… expectations, from you and everyone else - remember that we’re both gossip central now.”

“En-“

“And that’s just manipulative! And-“

“ _Enjolras!_ ” Grantaire let out a deep sigh. “ _Please_. Let me-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Enjolras’ face was closed off, and as Grantaire watched in horror, he turned around and began walking towards the door. He didn’t even look back when Grantaire desperately yelled, “Enjolras, come _on_!” Grantaire watched helplessly as the door closed behind Enjolras and a muffled groan of frustration came from outside.

Looking at the clock to see the time, Grantaire realized two things: one, that much less time had passed than he had thought, and two, that the Student Council meeting should have started ten minutes ago. Grantaire also realized that there was no point staying in the ominously empty Student Council room, so he reluctantly exited it - and nearly tripped over Bossuet, who was sitting right in front of the door.

“I _told_ you not to sit there, Bossuet,” groaned Joly. The entire Student Council, minus Enjolras and Grantaire, were sitting in a circle on the floor in the hallway.

“We decided that just because you two were having major drama in there didn’t mean we couldn’t still have the meeting,” Combeferre explained, scooting over towards Feuilly to let Grantaire sit down, which he did.

“We’ve decided on most of the music playlist. Wanna see?” Courfeyrac added, handed Grantaire a piece of paper with song titles written in multiple handwritings and pen colors.

“So, what happened in there?” Jehan asked, “Do you want to tell us about it?”

“I’m not fooled. You all heard every word we said. Tell me I’m wrong,” Grantaire said evenly, scanning the song list. “And no, we can’t have Gangnam Style on here, that’s a crime against humanity.”

“Yeah, OK, we did,” Bahorel admitted, “By the way, that’s what I said, but Feuilly insists it’s catchy. Do you want to talk with us about it anyways?”

Grantaire couldn’t help but smile. “Not really, but I will anyways. How screwed am I?”

“Not as much as you think,” Courfeyrac said, “Give him a bit of time.”

“Lying was kind of a dick move, and also extremely dumb, but so was Enjolras not letting you talk,” Bossuet chimed in, “I mean, a dick move, not dumb.”

“Look, I’ll talk to him after lunch,” Jehan offered, “We’ve got AP French together, so I can convince him not to make your history class a living hell.”

“Joy,” groaned Grantaire.

“No, but seriously,” Combeferre broke in, “Grantaire, did he actually say he didn’t want to go to prom with you anymore?”

“Ah. No, he didn’t, did he?” Grantaire answered slowly and with growing elation.

“Don’t freak out yet,” Bahorel reassured him, “You know how he gets - when he’s angry, he won’t listen to sense. Let’s let Enjolras cool down a bit and see how it goes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be fair, I wrote this back when Gangnam Style was still a thing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand thanks to the commenters that pointed out that Enjolras would NOT approve of former French President Nicolas Sarcozy, as he is both right-wing and racist. Even if you are one of those people who believe that E is right-wing (I am not), the second is enough to make it a serious mistake.

Enjolras found driving to school the next morning much more difficult than it should’ve been. He had spent all of yesterday furious and gone to bed angry, but he’d woken up with second thoughts. He was so consumed in thought about the Grantaire situation that he nearly missed the turn into the school parking lot. _This is why you didn’t get involved in social drama up until now_ , Enjolras thought to himself spitefully, but still couldn’t bring himself to be angry at Grantaire. Thinking of the plain distress that he had been too agitated to see in Grantaire’s face the day before, the only emotion that came to mind was regret.

Pulling into a parking space, Enjolras noticed Grantaire’s car sitting nearby. The lights were on, so Enjolras got out of his car and walked over, intrigued. Through the rear windshield he could just barely see Grantaire’s head bend forward in the back seat. He faintly remembered Grantaire telling Bahorel once or twice that he had just come from studying in his car or was on his way there, but had never seen him in the act. Timidly walking around the back of the car, he noticed one of the windows was cracked open and cautiously said, “Hey. Grantaire?”

Grantaire jumped from a slouch into a sitting position, obviously spooked, but quickly seemed to relax. He was still looking at Enjolras nervously, watching for an angry outburst, so Enjolras gave him a shy smile. Opening the car door slightly, Enjolras asked, “May I come in?” Grantaire gave him a silent nod. Enjolras opened the door the rest of the way and slid into the seat next to Grantaire, who pushed aside what looked like English poetry assignments to make room.

After an awkward pause, Grantaire spoke. All he said was, “I’m sorry.” Enjolras sighed slightly, but made absolutely sure Grantaire didn’t have anything more to say before answering.

“I’m sorry too.”

Silence fell for a while longer, but the happy smile that Grantaire could not suppress made Enjolras’ heart feel a little less heavy. Enjolras looked down at his hands and started to speak.

“I’m not very good at this.” Those were not the words he had intended to say and the nearly inaudible voice in which he spoke them was not intentional either. But Grantaire’s smile became softer, and Enjolras didn’t feel embarrassed; he felt understood.

“Me neither,” Grantaire replied in an equally quiet voice. “Do you think we’ll be able to manage?”

It sounded as though Grantaire had meant it as a joke, but it came out as a genuine question. So Enjolras answered sincerely, “I think so. I hope so.”

 

* * *

 

 

For the next two weeks, Enjolras and Grantaire were consumed with schoolwork and, when they could find the time, each other. The gossip chain seemed to have momentarily forgotten about them, flitting back and forth between such topics as Eponine’s supposed bathroom meltdown and Azelma’s decision to go to prom with Gervais. Organizing prom, on top of keeping up with his schoolwork and other Student Council activities, took up almost all of Enjolras’ pre-school and lunch hours. Grantaire also had to devote some time to homework, but the two managed to spend time together.

“Hey,” Enjolras might say, walking up to Grantaire in the cafeteria line, “What’re you listening to?” And Grantaire would smile and give Enjolras an earbud to listen from. Surprising conversations might start from such humble beginnings.

Enjolras didn’t seem to be the type to listen to music often, but one day when lunchtime Student Council ended early, Grantaire noticed him pull an iPhone out of his bag and open the music app. Having nothing pressing to do, Grantaire sat down next to Enjolras and asked, “Can I listen?” To his surprise, Enjolras looked rather sheepish as he wordlessly handed over an earbud. After listening to the music for a moment, Grantaire scowled slightly in confusion and asked, “Do you seriously listen to music in _French_?”

“That’s Carla Bruni,” said Enjolras, rather defensively, “It’s called ‘Quelqu’un m’a dit,’ and it’s very good. It helps me practice my French, anyway.”

“Where have I heard that name before?” asked Grantaire, even though he knew who Carla Bruni was, mostly to humor Enjolras.

“Carla Bruni was both a singer _and_ the First Lady of France,” said Enjolras with a certain unmistakable excitement that Grantaire knew would lead to a zealous political rant. He was proven right when Enjolras began an impassioned speech about Nicolas Sarkozy’s policies and how they were destroying France's core ideals. Enjolras was in the middle of an explanation of France’s parliamentary structure when the song suddenly switched from Carla Bruni to Call Me Maybe.

“I’m sorry,” said Grantaire, doing a very poor job of suppressing his laughter, “I just can’t take you seriously if the background music is Carly Rae Jepsen!”

Enjolras didn’t even bother trying to look offended, and just laughed along with Grantaire, who had begun to sing along in a register far too high for his vocal chords to handle.

 

* * *

 

 

And so the days passed. Grantaire and Enjolras, while engaging in the casual conversation that Grantaire had been too shy and Enjolras too distracted to initiate, found that there was a lot about each other that they hadn’t known. Even though Grantaire had admittedly been rather obsessed with Enjolras beforehand, he still found out some of Enjolras’ little idiosyncrasies: an insistence on triangular rather than rectangular sandwiches, a tendency to draw intricate little curlicues on the edges of school papers, and most importantly, the way a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth whenever Grantaire gave him a new ideological perspective to passionately debate.

Enjolras, on the other hand, made up for lost time by finding out everything about Grantaire that he had never bothered to know. Grantaire was, he knew, an art student, but he had not known the extent of Grantaire’s knowledge about art history.

“The Romantics were the best, man,” said Grantaire with a passion that was more often found in Enjolras’ voice, “They completely broke away from Enlightenment social norms and just explored the depths of the human psyche.”

“I think we learned about this in European History,” Enjolras said with  uncertainty, feeling a bit upstaged, “Wasn’t Delacroix a Romantic painter?”

“Yeah,” chuckled Grantaire, “But my favorite is Goya. _The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters_. Completely grotesque and completely awesome.”

Grantaire, in addition to having a favorite painter, had a beloved older sister who had gone to NYU on a full ride scholarship, a hatred for the color red (“Hurts my eyes. Did you know seeing the color red makes you dumber? I swear.”), a black belt in karate, and much more to his personality than snarky interruptions to Student Council meetings. Enjolras still hung out with all his other friends, but found his eyes tracking Grantaire across the room if he was there and glancing towards the door in anticipation if he wasn’t. Enjolras had to admit to himself that he was becoming fond of the cunning brunette who hid his intelligence and thoughtfulness under sarcastic smirks and witty retorts. _Very_ fond. But to Enjolras’ surprise, he felt astonishingly at peace with it. He just hoped that, as he had come to suspect, Grantaire felt the same way about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't know why I chose Goya as Grantaire's favorite artist, go look at his painting Third of May.


	6. Chapter 6

One issue disturbed Enjolras’ peace of mind. Enjolras was very close to his parents and spent a lot of time discussing current issues and school troubles with them. However, they were deeply religious and, as a result, did not approve of homosexuality. Enjolras, normally very opinionated and assertive, could not bear to contradict them, let alone tell them he was going to prom with another boy.

“Why?” asked Grantaire with concern when Enjolras finally worked up the courage to pull him aside and explain the situation.

“I don’t know,” said Enjolras, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “It’s just, like… I’ve already been quiet about it for so long. I don’t know how they would react if I suddenly started to speak out against them.”

“It’s harder to potentially provoke people who live in the same house as you,” Grantaire said, soft sympathy plainly audible.

“I’m afraid if I anger them enough, I won’t be living in the same house as them,” admitted Enjolras in a small voice. He hadn’t even told Combeferre that, he realized. He was rewarded for his candor when Grantaire’s reaction was to lean forward and take Enjolras’ hand (cautiously, cautiously) in his own.

“You don’t have to tell them. Not if you don’t want to,” Grantaire offered. Enjolras looked down at their joined hands, not knowing quite how to feel.

“I don’t know what would be worse - me telling them or them finding out on their own,” Enjolras added miserably. Knowing his parents, he had been rather surprised that they hadn’t already heard about the scandal of the gay couple going to prom together. Feeling a sudden stab of fear and sorrow, he reflexively squeezed Grantaire’s hand. Grantaire said nothing, and only squeezed back with unidentifiable emotion in his eyes. Sadness could be found there, but also hope and something deeper that Enjolras desperately wanted to call love.

“You’re going to be fine,” Grantaire finally said, “I know it.” These were empty words, but comforting nevertheless, and Enjolras felt just a little bit less afraid. “Give me a smile?” Grantaire asked with a smirk of his own. The optimism behind his words were enough for Enjolras to be able to give Grantaire a genuine smile. Grantaire smiled back, and Enjolras was at ease.

 

* * *

 

 

Enjolras’ concern was substantiated on the Thursday before prom weekend. His family had gone out to dinner at their favorite Italian restaurant, and though his parents had enjoyed themselves Enjolras had been on edge. Enjolras, having volunteered to drive, had just pulled onto the main road when his mother turned to him and said with a sigh, “I just don’t know what your school is coming to. Do you know what Charles told me?” Charles was the husband of one of her closest friends, whose son Montparnasse went to MHS with Enjolras.

“I won’t know until you tell me,” Enjolras replied warily.

“He asked me whether I knew that there was a gay couple who wanted to go to prom together,” his mother declared with ignorant indignation. Enjolras’ father made a small disgusted noise in his throat, and Enjolras’ hands gripped the wheel so hard that the knuckles turned white. Enjolras had not previously thought much of Montparnasse or Charles, but he suddenly felt a surge of gratitude towards them for not mentioning his involvement in the affair.

“Did you hear about this, Enjy?” Enjolras didn’t hear accusation in his mother’s question, only curiosity.

“You do prom, don’t you?” His father broke in before he could answer. “I’m sure you knew about this.”

“I did,” Enjolras admitted.

“Couldn’t you do something about it?”

“I manage the event. I don’t have the authority to say who gets to come or not.”

“Pity,” mused Enjolras’ mother. Enjolras sighed. If it hadn’t been obvious how much his parents were against him going to prom with Grantaire, it was now. He set his eyes resolutely on the highway in front of him and concentrated on just getting home to do his physics homework.

 

* * *

 

It was during the completion of said physics homework that the situation took a turn for the worse. A knock on Enjolras’ bedroom door distracted him from trying to figure out fluid dynamics, and he yelled, “Come in,” while still typing numbers into his calculator to see if they made sense. His mother entered the room, holding her iPhone and wearing a frown.

“Enjolras? I was talking to François on Facebook,” - and _here_ was the accusatory tone that Enjolras had hoped not to hear - “and he said you were going to prom with Grantaire?” Enjolras felt a little guilty that she framed the statement as a question, as though she hoped it wasn’t true. He went with the angle he had decided to take.

“Yeah? Duh,” he answered casually, putting on a confused face. “I go to prom with my friends every year.”

“He said that you weren’t going as friends,” insisted Enjolras’ mother with a scowl.

“Well, François is wrong.” Enjolras put his headphones over his ears and turned back to his work. He was staring resolutely at the class notes when someone, presumably his mom, began to shake his shoulder. Resisting the urge to say “darn it” aloud, he turned around to see her standing right next to him. He reluctantly took off his headphones, but she spoke before he could ask what she wanted.

“Your father and I don’t think that you should go to prom this year.”

“WHAT,” Enjolras cried, trying and failing to modulate his voice, “Why!?”

“Never seen you this excited about prom before,” retorted his mother with a raised eyebrow, and Enjolras saw with terror that she _knew_.

He focused on breathing evenly and continued, “It’s my last one! And I made the whole thing happen! I can’t just not go. Someone needs to police it and make sure nothing improper happens.” Enjolras hoped that his mother would interpret this to mean he would be policing the hypothetical gay couple, but it was difficult to tell if it had worked or not. “I’ve already got plans. I can’t just tell my Student Council friends that I’m not showing up to help them with prom because my parents think I’m taking a date.”

“Now, see here,” his mother butted in, chagrined, “We’d be perfectly happy with you dating a girl. In fact, we’d be thrilled. But you need to understand that we do not support same-sex relations of any kind.”

“I know that. Believe me, I know that,” Enjolras agreed hastily, alarmed by the heated glare his mother was giving him. He held his palms up in a conciliatory gesture, attempting to calm her rage. “But please, just let me go.”

“No,” was Enjolras’ mother’s simple reply, and he stared in horror at her as she turned away and exited the room. When Enjolras recovered from the shock, he lunged towards his iPhone and mashed indiscriminately at the home button. He groaned with despair when the phone didn’t respond, meaning it was dead. Tossing it absent-mindedly to the floor to charge later, he turned on his laptop and opened up Skype. Out of all his friends with Skypes, only Marius was online, and Enjolras wasn’t _that_ desperate.

Glancing back at his homework, Enjolras accepted that he was absolutely not in the mood to decipher complex physics equations. Instead, he flopped onto his bed and replaced his headphones, telling himself that music would calm him down. The music did finally soothe him - until the song switched to Call Me Maybe. Enjolras couldn’t get the memory of Grantaire singing along out of his head, but also couldn’t keep from hitting the button to replay every time the song ended. He lay on the bed a long time listening to Carly Rae Jepsen sing about newfound love before he eventually fell asleep, physics homework still incomplete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am of the strong opinion that Enjolras would hate the nickname "Enjy" that fans have given him and would only take it without complaint if it was his mom calling him that.


	7. Chapter 7

There was no Student Council meeting before school the next day, but Enjolras showed up 30 minutes early anyways. If he stayed at home any longer, he would have crossed paths with his parents eating their breakfasts and leaving for their jobs. Not wanting to repeat the traumatizing events of the previous day, he hurried into the car when he heard footsteps upstairs and drove the short distance to school. Entering the mostly empty library to find a niche to study in, Enjolras caught sight of Feuilly and ran over.

“Feuilly!” Enjolras stage-whispered, the quiet of the library making his voice startlingly clear. Feuilly looked up in surprise and closed the book he had been reading. Enjolras could not decipher the language on the cover of the book, but knowing Feuilly, it was probably Polish.

“What’s up, Enjolras? You don’t generally come this early. Did you forget there wasn’t a meeting?” Feuilly whispered.

“Of course not! I just… wanted to leave early.”

“What happened?” Feuilly asked, sensing Enjolras’ hesitation. “Is this about prom?”

“When isn’t it these days?” Enjolras retorted dryly, “My parents are saying that I can’t go to prom. They heard rumors about Grantaire and me.”

“Oh no!” groaned Feuilly. “I’m so sorry!” Feuilly was an orphan who lived on his own, so Enjolras always felt a bit awkward talking about his parents with him. It was nearly impossible to be awkward around him though; he was such a genuinely nice person that he could never take offense to anything.

 “How am I supposed to convince them to let me?” Enjolras asked despondently.

Feuilly considered the question for a moment, then suggested, “It is possible that they just won’t let you, so you should consider just going anyways.”

Enjoras’ head came up in surprise to meet Feuilly’s gaze. Feuilly addressed Enjolras’ unspoken question by continuing with, “I think that this prom is going to be really important to you and Grantaire. Actually, it probably already is. So if the risk is worth it, go for it. You both deserve to be happy.”

For a minute, all Enjolras could say in response was “huh,” as he digested Feuilly’s advice. Then a grin spread across his face. “Wow, thanks,” he whispered.

“No problem,” was Feuilly’s response, “I hope that helped.”

“Definitely something to think about.”

“Well, you’ve still got 30 minutes ‘til class. Might as well do some work, huh?”

“Yeah. Still got some physics homework that I need to get done.”

“I can’t help you with that, but good luck.”

“Thanks. Really.” Enjolras emphasized, giving Feuilly a big smile that was returned with enthusiasm. He sat down next to Feuilly and pulled out his physics notes and calculator. He had meant to leave the conversation at that but realized that he had mumbled aloud that “It’s going to be one long stretch until prom, isn’t it?” Feuilly grimaced in sympathy, and Enjolras resolutely turned back to his work. If his personal life was going to be horrific, at least he could make sure his academic life wasn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

The last day before prom was charged with nervous energy. The whole school buzzed with talk and plans for the next day, and no one got any schoolwork done in class. All the Student Council members were still excited for prom and were looking forward to it, but Enjolras’ predicament won their sympathy. When Grantaire and Enjolras weren’t in the room, Bossuet might shake his head and say something like, “Goodness, they must really love each other to go through this bullshit,” and Joly would add, “They both look so stressed I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them gets sick before prom.”

There were plenty of plans and decisions to be made, both essential and trivial. Enjolras had decided to give up on trying to convince his parents to let him go, because as Jehan put it, “If you keep bugging them about it, they’ll only be even more suspicious.” Miss Baptistine had finally emailed him back with a single line of text: “Musain High School will not change its policies and will continue to prohibit same-sex couples attending prom together.”

“I was at least hoping from _something_ from the school,” Grantaire said resentfully when Enjolras told everyone the news.

“ _C’est la vie_ , I guess,” Courfeyrac commented somberly.

“Are you sure you still want to go?” Grantaire heard the words come out of his mouth, and cursed himself for not suppressing them. The worry in Enjolras’ eyes turned to something sadder, and he shook his head.

“Of course I do, Grantaire,” Enjolras immediately answered. Taken aback by his own certainty, he continued tentatively, “We can’t just call it off now. This needs to happen.”

It seemed to his friends as though Grantaire had deflated slightly at those words. Joly could not resist leaning over and whispering into Bossuet’s ear, “He thinks Enjolras is only going to protest against the unfairness of it, doesn’t he?”

Bossuet let out a miniscule breath of air that could hardly be called a sigh, replying even more quietly, “Poor buggers. Enjolras is right - this _does_ need to happen. Otherwise they’ll just waste away pining for each other.” He became conscious of Enjolras and Grantaire giving him and Joly questioning looks, so he added in a voice everyone could hear, “If you guys can just persevere until prom, it’s going to be alright.”

“If I could only believe that, Bossuet,” Enjolras muttered.

“Bossuet speaks wisely,” Jehan assured him, “If you can get through this, then I think you can get through anything.”

“Has this become, like, a group therapy session?” Enjolras groaned, “How To Make Sure Grantaire And Enjolras Don’t Have Nervous Breakdowns Before Tomorrow 101?”

“Basically, yeah,” Courfeyrac said.

“God knows you two need it,” added Bahorel with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh! Um. Enjolras?” Grantaire said all of a sudden, as though he had just remembered something important. “There’s a question I forgot to ask you. No, don’t give me that face,” - Enjolras had shot up, looking tense, - “It’s nothing serious. I was just curious…What are you going to be wearing?”

“Oh,” said Enjolras, deeply relieved, “Does it matter?”

“I don’t want to show up in, like, a t-shirt and see you’ve come in a tux.”

“Do I even own a tux?” Enjolras wondered aloud, “I guess so, but I’d have to ask my mom where it is, and that wouldn’t be suspicious at _all_.”

“OK, good, because I know for a fact I don’t own one. How about a button-up shirt and jeans?”

“Sounds good to me,” Enjolras shrugged, “Well, that’s one less thing to worry about.”

“Goodness knows we’ve got enough stress as it is,” Grantaire pointed out with a real, genuine laugh. Enjolras smiled back at him fondly and the tension in the room lifted just a little bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feuilly gets the spotlight! Here I also save myself the trouble of describing their outfits on prom night itself. Next time - prom!


	8. Chapter 8

Grantaire sat in his car while it idled, drumming on the wheel. He had arrived at 412 Plumet Drive a couple minutes earlier and was still waiting for Enjolras to arrive. This was actually Cosette’s house; Enjolras lived down the street at number 409 but was terrified that his parents would see the car waiting outside. Grantaire hoped Cosette’s father wouldn’t think he was stalking her and shoo him away. He was only supposed to be waiting momentarily, but about 5 minutes had gone by and Enjolras still had not shown up. The whole affair had been meticulously planned out - Grantaire would turn up at 6:10 so that they could get to school at about 6:30 and be thirty minutes early for prom to start at 7:00. He had even arrived at 6:06 to be sure he got there before Enjolras did, but it was already 6:16.

Grantaire couldn’t help but be a little bit paranoid that Enjolras had stood him up and wouldn’t go to prom with him after all. He had called and texted Enjolras a couple times on Friday night and Saturday afternoon, but whether intentionally or not, Enjolras had not answered. He had nearly decided that Enjolras wasn’t coming when he heard a frantic patter of feet on concrete and the desperate clicking of Enjolras pulling on the locked car door. Grantaire hurriedly unlocked it, allowing Enjolras to yank it open and leap into the passenger seat.

“What-“ Grantaire began, rather alarmed by Enjolras’ energy, but was interrupted by Enjolras’ breathless command, “Go, go, go, go, go!”

“Okay, but what is going _on_?” Grantaire wondered aloud as he raced to put the car into drive and release the parking brake. Enjolras kept throwing glances over his shoulder, back towards his house, and seemed to be giggling in delight. Grantaire was both terribly confused and worried that Enjolras had gone temporarily nuts.

“Sorry,” giggled Enjolras, “It’s just adrenaline.” He took a couple of deep, steadying breaths and appeared to calm down enough to talk normally.

“What did you do, escape from the house like a freaking secret agent?”

“Almost.”

“What?” Grantaire had to physically restrain himself from tearing his eyes off the road to stare at Enjolras.

“Here’s the thing. I don’t think you’ve been to my house before, but the front door leads directly to the living room, where my parents like to sit every night and watch movies. There are no other doors in my house. They would have seen me leave for sure.” Enjolras was narrating the story animatedly, eyes sparkling with excitement. “So here’s what I did. Last night I played a movie on my laptop in my room, loudly enough so that they would hear it and think I was goofing off. In reality I was working my ass off doing all the homework I said I was going to do tonight. So this morning I told my parents that I’d slipped up last night and hadn’t done most of my work, so if they could please not disturb me, I was going to be working in my room until late.”

“No,” Grantaire interjected, figuring out where the story was going.

“Yeah,” Enjolras practically crowed. His present delight and pride was the complete opposite to his former misery. “So I locked the door, actually did some work, and then left through the window with the light still on in my room, as though I was still in there.”

“I don’t know how to properly express my awe and respect,” laughed Grantaire. The mood now felt so much lighter and Enjolras’ chuckling was so infectious that he couldn’t help laughing himself. “How did you not kill yourself jumping out of a window?”

“My room is on the first floor of the house,” Enjolras explained, “I’m not _that_ crazy.”

“I should hope not,” joked Grantaire, “I’d like to take you to prom in one piece, not in segments.”

“Eugh,” winced Enjolras, but he was still grinning like an idiot. Grantaire was seized with the sudden desire to kiss Enjolras right on that laughing mouth, and twisted his own mouth in desperation, immensely grateful to see the approaching Musain High School building.

“Can you believe that this is actually happening?” Enjolras practically squealed, making it Grantaire’s turn to wince.

“God, no.”

“Well then, let’s do this,” Enjolras opened the car door and hopped out. Grantaire followed him out and began to walk past him when he felt Enjolras’ hand on his arm, holding him back. Assuming that Enjoras was facing a sudden loss of confidence, he turned to comfort him, but instead found Enjolras smiling at him and holding out his hand. It took a moment for him to understand what Enjolras meant by it, but after a moment Grantaire returned the smile and took Enjolras’ hand in his own. And together they walked to the gym doors. 

 

* * *

 

The scene at the door was in equal parts entertaining and horrifying. A man in a vest who Enjolras and Grantaire recognized as being one of the school security guards was in an argument with Jehan. The normally calm and sweet Jehan was red in the face with fury and was yelling at the guard so loudly that even from yards away, Enjolras and Grantaire could hear.

“I WAS GIVEN THE JOB OF WATCHING THE DOOR,” hollered Jehan, “IT IS MY RESPONSIBILITY TO DECIDE WHO GETS IN! YOU DON’T GET TO FORCIBLY PREVENT PEOPLE FROM WALKING THROUGH THESE DOORS!”

“ _You_ are a student. _You_ do not get to override the school’s decisions,” the guard insisted, crossing his arms and looking as intimidating as possible. When he saw Enjolras and Grantaire approaching (Enjolras having let go of Grantaire’s hand self-consciously) he rolled his eyes and turned to face them.

“I’m guessing we’re not getting in, huh?” Enjolras stated resignedly.

“I sure want to let you,” replied the guard, “But rules are rules.”

Enjolras and Grantaire looked at each other, trying to see if either of them had a reasonable answer to that ultimatum, when Grantaire’s phone buzzed in his pocket. As he frowned and pulled it out, Enjolras looked past Jehan and the guard and noticed that the rest of Student Council was hovering apprehensively. Joly and Bossuet were whispering again, Combeferre looked deeply concerned, and Courfeyrac was actually biting his nails. But Bahorel was grinning like a cat and Feuilly was covering his mouth to hide laughter. Just as Enjolras was about to ask them what was so funny, Grantaire snorted slightly. Enjolras turned towards him just as Grantaire shoved his phone in his face.

“Alright, sorry to bother you, sir. See you all later,” Enjolras declared, taking Grantaire’s arm and pulling him away. Jehan and Joly’s faces froze in shock, and Joly cried out, “Wait, where are you going?”

“See you soon,” Grantaire called out cheerfully, trying to impart as much significance into those words as he could. Bahorel leaned over and murmured an explanation into the ears of those still uninformed, and they retreated to snigger triumphantly inside the gym. The guard shook his head in defeat and grunted, “Well, I can’t say I didn’t try.”

“I cannot _believe_ we are doing this,” Enjolras laughed once they had rounded the corner of the gym and were out of sight of the guard.

“ _You_ are the one who bust out of your own house like an actual ninja,” Grantaire pointed out. “How the hell are we even supposed to get into the supply closet?” The supply closet was the room where all the spare gym equipment was stored. No one was exactly sure why it needed doors leading both outside and into the gym itself, but Grantaire sent out a silent message to thanks to whoever designed it that way. Enjolras just smirked mysteriously and stayed silent until they reached the closet door. Then he reached into his own pocket and pulled out keys.

“Student Council President perks,” he explained with a smirk as he slid a key into the lock and opened the door.

“How did you even think to bring your keys?” Grantaire wondered.

“To tell you the truth, I forgot them in my pants pocket,” Enjolras admitted. He held the door open for Grantaire, who practically ran through the closet to the inside door. He pulled at the door impatiently, but to his surprise the door opened before Enjolras could arrive with the keys.

“Grantaire! My man!” Bahorel cried, throwing open the door and nearly tackling him to the ground in an enthusiastic hug.

“Let’s get the party started!” Courfeyrac yelled out from the DJ station (which was really just a table with a laptop and an iPod dock on it).

“If getting the party started means cleaning up the gym and getting everything set up, then yes, let’s do that,” Enjolras called back.

“Enjolras the buzzkill has returned to us!” Courfeyrac moaned dramatically. “Fine. Someone want to help me set up this strobe light?”

“I will!” Bossuet volunteered.

“Not a chance!” Joly reprimanded him, “It’ll just fall on your head or short out or something awful. Remember last year?”

“God, don’t remind us,” groaned Bossuet, “Joly! It was just bad luck!”

“It’s always bad luck with you!” Jehan shouted from the front doors. The friendly banter continued as the friends got busy with arranging decorations, testing electronic devices, and getting everything ready for prom. Before they knew it, it was 7:00 PM and prom was on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, but I promised myself months ago that I would add this terrible joke/reference to this chapter. Alright.
> 
> "Who the FUCK let you in here?"  
> "Jehan."  
> "Jehan who?"  
> "Jehan Prouvaire!"  
> "Jehan Prouvaire isn't even in charge of the door!"


	9. Chapter 9

Students began to stream in only a couple of minutes after 7, quickly filling the room with chatter and laughter. Grantaire loved the energy of crowds and the shared excitement that flowed between the students on dance nights. As much as he loved it, however, he didn’t love it more than the fact that Enjolras’ hand had found its way back into his own. They sat on the sidelines for a while, sipping punch out of the red plastic cups that always seemed to be at these sorts of events. But after 15 minutes or so, Grantaire had had enough of staying out of the action.

“Enjolras, finished with your drink?” Grantaire asked, pulling Enjolras up to his feet. “Come on, we should dance.”

“I don’t know how to dance…” murmured Enjolras fretfully. Grantaire knew that was mostly bullshit, seeing that Enjolras had gone to basically all the dances and Grantaire had seen him dance at them. But there was something inescapably awkward about prom dancing, and Grantaire understood his hesitation.

“It’s not that hard! You just have to kind of throw your hands in the air and move your feet with the song! I dunno, just try,” Grantaire cajoled.

“What about when the slow dancing songs come on?” Enjolras asked anxiously. Grantaire had to admit to himself that the clear worry shown in Enjolras’ furrowed brow was endearing, and chuckled to put him at ease.

“First of all, that’s not for another hour at least. Secondly, fun fact about me? When I was a kid, my parents made me take ballroom dancing classes,” Grantaire reassured him. Enjolras laughed incredulously.

“You’re not serious.”

“I swear!”

“Alright, I’ll trust you,” Enjolras acquiesced with a lopsided grin. “Let’s face the music.”

Walking together towards the center of the dance floor, they were waved over to a big circle of their friends. Joly and Bossuet were entertaining the others by what seemed to be a dance-off, which was made more amusing by the fact that neither of them were any good at dancing. Joly finally gave up and just sat on the ground, panting heavily, while Bossuet cheered. Enjolras chortled in pleasure, and turning to Grantaire, joked, “Well, I guess I’m not _that_ bad.”

The song switched to one with a more peppy beat, and everyone began to dance with renewed energy. This gave Enjolras and Grantaire the chance to join in. Enjolras danced perfectly well, of course, even if his face betrayed a deep underlying distress.

 “Not that difficult, huh?” Grantaire ribbed him, both figuratively and by literally poking Enjolras in the ribs with his elbow. Enjolras rolled his eyes, not bothering to dignify the joke with an answer, but was still smiling.

They were still dancing like that almost an hour later when the music subsided somewhat and Courfeyrac called from what he still was stubbornly calling the DJ station.

“Hey, boys and girls, hope you’re having fun!” His voice, amplified by a mic, could be heard across the gym, and a resounding cheer came from the crowd. Grinning, he continued.

“This is your five minute notice until the slow songs begin! Find yourself a partner!”

Enjolras nudged Grantaire and said with a straight face, “Jeez, I wonder who I’m going to be dancing with?”

Grantaire took him seriously for a brief and terrifying moment before relaxing again. “So, do you have any idea what you’re doing when it comes to slow dancing?”

Enjolras was the very picture of shy embarrassment, averting his eyes and biting his lip. Grantaire found it absolutely adorable. “I…ah, Googled how. Before I came.”

“Googled it? I can’t imagine that was very helpful. Were there pictures?” Grantaire tried to answer seriously but couldn’t help laughing a bit at Enjolras’ awkwardness.

“Wikipedia told me that ‘in Western popular culture, slow dancing can be a symbol of adolescent social awkwardness.’” Enjolras laughed uneasily. Grantaire cracked up, and it took him a couple minutes to stop, during which Enjolras flushed in embarrassment.

“Sorry, man, I’m only making this worse,” Grantaire finally chuckled, laying a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder.

“This will definitely make this more awkward, but…which of us is going to be the guy?” Enjolras tentatively asked. Grantaire stopped laughing completely.

“Oh god,” he groaned,  “What a terrible - but completely necessary - question.” Enjolras and Grantaire regarded each other in silence for a moment, then Enjolras held out an open palm and a fist. It took Grantaire a moment that he was silently asking to play rock-paper-scissors. He removed his hand from Enjolras’ shoulder and counted out “1 - 2 - 3 - go!”

They both stared at each others’ closed fists and collapsed into laughter.

“Why did you have to pick rock?” Enjolras giggled.

“Why did _you_?” Grantaire asked teasingly, “OK, let’s try that again.”

This time, Enjolras picked paper and Grantaire picked scissors. Enjolras groaned dramatically but quickly added, “I don’t mind. I guess it’s better this way. I mean, the guy leads, right? And you’d be better at leading, since you dance more that I have.”

“We’re putting way too much thought into this,” Grantaire said, “Slow dancing isn’t rocket science. You just sway a bit, no footwork involved.”

They stared at each other for a while longer.

“I swear to god, Courf,” Enjolras eventually groaned, “If you don’t start the slow dancing songs soon, I am actually going to-“

“Everyone better have chosen themselves a partner,” Courfeyrac called, as if on cue, “Because I’m getting these slow songs started! First, a lovely song from the delightful Ingrid Michaelson!”

“Ingrid Michaelson?” Enjolras frowned. Grantaire swiftly grabbed Enjolras’ left hand and placed it on his own shoulder, sliding his own onto Enjolras’ waist.

“Woah there,” Enjolras said uneasily, but to Grantaire’s surprise, he didn’t pull back. Instead, Grantaire’s heart skipped a beat when he felt Enjolras’ hand grip his shoulder securely as the music started.

The song was Michaelson’s cover of “Can’t Help Falling In Love With You,” and it was actually one of Grantaire’s favorites. Thinking back, he couldn’t remember it being on the song list that he’d approved, and suspected that one of his friends (Jehan? Joly? Bossuet?) had put it there to mess with him. But he had to admit that the song felt pretty accurate right then, so he closed his eyes in contentment and began to sing along.

“Wise  men  say,

Only  fools  rush  in,

But  I  can’t  help  falling  in  love  with  you.”

His relaxed bliss abruptly changed to shock and enchantment when Enjolras began to sing the lyrics with him.

“Shall  I  stay,

Would  it  be  a  sin,

But  I  can’t  help  falling  in  love  with  you.”

Maybe Enjolras couldn’t have gotten into choir, but his singing voice was sweet and angelic and, well, Grantaire couldn’t help falling in love. He realized rather belatedly that he’d been staring a bit when Enjolras murmured, “What is it?”

“I’m surprised that you know the words,” Grantaire answered in a whisper, “But shh, just enjoy the music.”

They waited for the start of the next stanza before beginning to sing along again, Enjolras’ tenor harmonizing with Grantaire’s baritone.

“Like  a  river  flows  surely  to  the  sea,

Darling  so  it  goes

Some  things  are  meant  to  be

So  take  my  hand,  and  take  my  whole  life  too,

‘Cause  I  can't  help  falling  in  love  with  you.”

Even once the song was over, neither Enjolras nor Grantaire felt very eager to drop their hands. There was a sudden bustle as pairs broke apart and solitary dancers looked for new partners. Enjolras and Grantaire just stood patiently in blissful silence, Enjolras’ hand now resting on Grantaire’s hip and Grantaire’s arm slung over Enjolras’ shoulder. Joined in physical contact, they waited contentedly for the next song to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find the song that E and R dance to here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5sQeQC4hT10  
> If you don't know why I put double spaces between all the lyrics, listen to it. It's really slow. And adorable and romantic. Gosh.


	10. Chapter 10

The next song that came on over the overhead speakers wasn’t one that Grantaire recognized. But it wasn’t as though he could have sung along anyways, as the single members of Student Council (Joly and Bossuet had gone to dance with Muschietta) had decided to come heckle Enjolras and Grantaire.

“Can’t you let us dance in peace?” Enjolras groaned dramatically, seeing his friends’ intentions in their mischievous smiles.

“Absolutely not,” declared Bahorel smugly. Enjolras stopped dancing but, to Grantaire’s infinite satisfaction, did not take his hands off Grantaire. Combeferre must have seen some amount of his pleasure in his expression because when he asked, “Having fun yet?” he looked at Grantaire.

“Definitely,” Grantaire affirmed. The way that Jehan was smirking told Grantaire that teasing was not long in coming, and he was proved right when Jehan asked Enjolras, “So have you two gotten to first base yet? Or are you still on romantic dancing?”

“Hey!” Courfeyrac said with mock reproach, “Don’t limit them! Maybe they got to second base!”

“When would we have done that?” Enjolras asked with what was obviously also joking disapproval, “You’ve been not-so-subtly watching our every move since prom started!”

No one bothered to deny the accusation, but Feuilly pointed out, “Maybe they snuck away when we weren’t looking and made out in the supply closet.”

“What’re you talking about? They’re already in the closet,” Courfeyrac said with a huge grin that communicated his knowledge of how terrible a joke he’d just made. The façade of dignified offense that Enjolras had maintained abruptly shattered, and he leaned forward to giggle maniacally into Grantaire’s shoulder. It was impossible for Grantaire to keep a frown when Enjolras was now twisting his head to rest his forehead in the side of Grantaire’s neck, still giggling. Grantaire took the opportunity to wrap his arms around Enjolras, saying to the others, “Look what you did! You broke my date!” Enjolras’ laughter had subsided somewhat, but at Grantaire’s words he burst into a fresh fit of giggling. “See?” Grantaire raised his eyebrows in pretend horror, “Also, when was I ever in the closet? Like, really?”

“I can’t _believe_ you all!” Enjolras chuckled when he regained his breath. “You know what, Grantaire?” he said, pulling back and smiling at Grantaire, “Let’s ditch these knuckleheads.” And Enjolras began to pull Grantaire away by the hand.

“Where are you going? They’ll just follow us,” Grantaire asked, bewildered. Looking back over his shoulder and through the crowd, he could see his own bafflement mirrored on the faces of his friends.

“No, they can’t,” Enjolras answered smugly. He plunged the hand not gripping Grantaire’s into his pocket, pulling out his keys. It was not until Enjolras was already inserting his key into the doorknob of the supply closet that Grantaire figured out what was going on.

“Enjolras! You’re not serious?”

“Are you objecting?”

“Not at all,” Grantaire assured him hastily, detecting a hint of genuine concern in Enjolras’ voice. Enjolras rewarded him with a beaming smile and opened the door for him. Grantaire installed himself on top of a bin containing tennis balls and rackets and waited for Enjolras to pull himself up next to him. When Enjolras settled himself on the bin, his hand drifted over and rested on top of Grantaire’s own. The pair soaked in the silence for a few blissful moments before Grantaire spoke.

“Well, I’m going to need to escort you home at some point.”

“I don’t want to leave just yet,” Enjolras murmured. “I’m having the time of my life.”

“So it was worth it to come?” Grantaire asked tentatively.

“You’re talking as though the night is over yet. And Grantaire, of course it was.”

Their fingers slowly interlaced, almost of their own volition.

“I don’t know how well this plan worked in terms of rebelling against the administration,” Grantaire sighed pensively.

“Well,” Enjolras said slowly, “That wasn’t really the whole point, was it?”

Grantaire would have expected those words to be spoken in anger, but Enjolras didn’t sound disappointed at all. Grantaire raised his gaze, which had previously rested on their hands, and met Enjolras’ eyes. Enjolras had his head tipped slightly to the side and was looking at him warily. Grantaire had the impression that Enjolras had leaned closer, but dismissed it as wishful thinking. It took him a moment to come up with an appropriate response.

“No?” Grantaire asked simply.

“I remember the exact words you used to ask me to prom,” Enjolras confessed, “And what you said was not only that you wanted to make a statement, but also that you wanted to take me to prom as your date.”

Here he paused and pressed his lips tightly together, watching Grantaire’s reaction. Grantaire was looking intently into Enjolras’ eyes, his own eyes going wide as he realized the implications of Enjolras' words.

“I accepted for the same reasons,” Enjolras continued, his voice having dropped to barely over a whisper, "While I would have liked to have changed that damn Baptistine's mind, I would not have come if I hadn't wanted to date you, Grantaire." Enjolras and Grantaire had angled themselves to face each other, and in doing so had moved close enough together for their legs to brush against one another’s. They didn’t say anything for a long time after that, quietly relishing the moment.

“Are you sure that you want this?” Grantaire finally asked. Without either really realizing it, they had gradually leaned in towards each other, and were now so close that Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ breath on his mouth. Grantaire could have counted each one of Enjolras’ long, light eyelashes, and he was sure Enjolras could see the flecks of green lurking within his brown eyes. And then, without one boy or the other leading, they closed the distance between them.

The kiss was relatively chaste, as it was both Enjolras' and Grantaire's first and they admittedly had no idea what they were doing. Nevertheless, they soon found comfortable positions that allowed them both to kiss each other and not fall off the bin that they were perched on. Grantaire's hand slid up to card through Enjolras' perfect curls, and he could feel Enjolras smile against his lips.

When they broke apart for a breath of air, Enjolras twisted his head around and stared at the door. Nothing could be heard from outside.

"That's suspicious," Grantaire whispered. "Do you think they're spying on us?"

Enjolras turned back to Grantaire with a cheeky grin, saying in a voice loud enough to be heard in the dance hall, "Oh, let them listen." And he leaned back in to make out with Grantaire more aggressively. Grantaire had no complaints, even though he was sure he heard a wolf-whistle from the other side of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left! I just want Grantaire to be happy, damnit.


	11. Chapter 11

Grantaire pulled out his phone and stared at it with trepidation. He had just come back home from dropping Enjolras back off at home after a considerably long time in the supply closet and a couple more minutes of dancing. He still chuckled to remember the way the security guard had given them a dramatic eye roll when they left the gym by the front doors, telling them, “Hope you had fun, boys.”

But now was not the time for laughter, because there was a problem: Enjolras was not answering Grantaire’s texts. Grantaire had sat in the driver’s seat of his car for a long time after Enjolras left the car, still able to feel Enjolras’ good-bye kiss on his lips, worried that Enjolras hadn’t made it home undetected. He eventually had to head back for home, but as a security measure he had sent Enjolras a text asking him if he’d gotten home alright.

It had now been more than half an hour since he had sent the text, and there was still no answer. Grantaire was beginning to become very, very worried. He almost broke his resolve not to call Enjolras when his phone buzzed in his hand. Reassured, he slid it open and opened the messages app. His relieved smile froze on his face.

 

Grantaire stared at the screen for a long time, trying to understand what _that_ could mean and failing in not freaking out. He resorted to his go-to reaction for almost any sticky situation - he texted Bahorel.

 

Bahorel soon supplied Grantaire with Combeferre’s number. Grantaire felt bad for not asking Bahorel himself for help, but he reasoned (as well as he could in his current state of terror) that Combeferre was probably more familiar with Enjolras’ parents and how to deal with them. In any case, Combeferre quickly responded to Grantaire’s frantic text.

 

But when Grantaire came to school on Monday, he couldn’t find Enjolras anywhere. The Student Council was to have a meeting at lunch, and Grantaire sprinted to the meeting room. A couple of students were already there, but no Enjolras. The worry on Grantaire’s face told them all they needed to know.

“Enjolras isn’t here today,” Jehan told him without having to be asked. “He wasn’t in Honors Calc at all.”

“He _never_ misses school,” Courfeyrac added from under the table, where he was plugging his laptop into an outlet. He popped up to continue, “I heard from Bossuet that his parents called in to say he wasn’t coming today without giving a reason why.”

Joly shook his head and lamented, “God, they can’t just refuse to let him see the light of day. What’s their problem? I hope he’s not completely screwed.”

Grantaire had sat down heavily into a chair while this conversation was going on, but leapt back up at the sound of approaching footsteps and a muffled voice.

“No, no,” the voice was saying, “I’m _fine_ , Miss Simplice, really.”

The boys in the room exchanged shocked looks, silently confirming that all of them recognized the voice as that of Enjolras.

“I just…I was sick. That’s why my eyes are red,” Enjolras continued, as the door opened slightly but stopped while still half-open. Combeferre sat bolt upright at this, the horror on his face mirroring the horror Grantaire felt. He jerked his head towards the door, noiselessly suggesting that Grantaire go over to Enjolras. Grantaire was quite happy to comply, intrigued by the fact that even Enjolras’ closest friend had decided that he was the best person to comfort Enjolras when he entered the room. He would have been flattered if he wasn’t sick with worry.

“Have a nice day,” said the woman who was probably the aforementioned Miss Simplice, sounding unsure of whether to keep questioning Enjolras.

“You too,” Enjolras replied, his voice far from cheery. As if eager to make sure that the conversation ended, he shoved the door open in one push. His eyes, which were indeed red and puffy and sad in a way that tugged at Grantaire’s gut, scanned the room to see who was in it. Before anyone could make a move or ask him anything, he abruptly buried his face into Grantaire’s shoulder and burst into frenzied tears.

No one knew quite how to react to that, except for Grantaire, who simply tugged Enjolras closer to him and rested his chin on the top of Enjolras’ head. He managed to hold in his curiosity until Enjolras had stopped sobbing and began to take gasping, steadying breaths.

“Enjolras,” he murmured softly, “Sssh, it’s okay. When you feel up to it, can you tell us what happened?”

Enjolras sniffled and snuggled deeper into Grantaire’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry for crying,” he finally began, but Grantaire interrupted, “Don’t be. Your parents found out, huh?”

Enjolras nodded and exhaled, long and shaky, and Grantaire thought he was going to burst into tears again. Instead, Enjolras answered, “I got back into the house and I was _so_ happy because they didn’t see me come in, and they caught me _anyway_ …”

Enjolras’ voice was becoming increasingly panicky, so Grantaire asked in an effort to distract him and calm him down, “See? You did manage to get home. Good for you!”

Enjolras made no answer other than a small whine, so Grantaire switched gears and continued, “How did they find out?”

Enjolras said nothing and tugged himself away from Grantaire. He was about to ask Enjolras what he’d said wrong when he realized Enjolras had freed his hands to dig into his pockets. He finally pulled out his phone, wiped tears from his eyes in order to see the screen, clicked some buttons, and passed his phone to Grantaire.

For a moment, Grantaire could not understand what the photo on the screen had to do with anything. The girl in the foreground was a freshman girl named Dahlia Listolier, and she was posing with her hands making peace signs, obviously meant to show off her perfectly manicured nails. She was slightly blurry, so Grantaire looked into the background to see what the camera had focused on, and that was when he saw it.

In the near background of the photo was himself and Enjolras. Grantaire remembered the moment - they had been slow dancing, and Grantaire had started pirouetting under Enjolras’ arm as a joke. Enjolras was laughing wholeheartedly, and Grantaire was blushing slightly from embarrassment. Both of them were looking at each other with shining eyes, full of excitement and love. Grantaire felt a lump in his own throat and blinked rapidly.

“My mom found it on Facebook,” Enjolras explained wretchedly.

“We look so _happy_ ,” Grantaire commented quietly, handing off the phone to the others to look at. Enjolras only nodded, murmuring his thanks to Jehan, who had handed him a tissue.

“What am I going to do?” Enjolras asked, blowing his nose. It was only when Enjolras looked around at the others, directing his question to them, that Grantaire noticed that they had not yet broken eye contact.

“If you don’t want to go home,” Combeferre offered cautiously, “You can stay with me tonight?” Enjolras scowled slightly, then considered for a moment, and finally nodded reluctantly.

“Can I?” Enjolras asked uncertainly.

“My parents are always happy for you to come over,” Combeferre answered. Grantaire wondered if Enjolras had ever needed to escape from his parents before and reflexively squeezed Enjolras into a tighter hug. Enjolras’ strong grip on the back of his shirt told him that the affection was deeply appreciated.

“Do you want to go wash your face in the bathroom?” Joly asked.

Enjolras shook his head, answering, “I just want to stay in here for a while longer.”

“If you don’t want to go to your next class, you don’t have to,” Bahorel, who had apparently walked into the room halfway through the conversation and had been brought up to speed, suggested to Enjolras.

“I’ll stay with you,” Grantaire immediately added. Enjolras raised his eyebrows and said disapprovingly, “ _Grantaire._ You have math class next.”

“I never show up. One more time won’t hurt,” Grantaire joked. Enjolras’ laugh in response, though weak, made Grantaire feel worlds better.

Bossuet had also entered part of the way through the conversation, and asked from the doorway, “So you aren’t coming to class, are you? I can tell Mr. Fauchelevant that you still haven’t showed up to school.”

Enjolras sighed deeply in resignation. “Fine. I really would rather stay here.”

“Then you can,” Grantaire told him, giving him a squeeze.

They ended up staying in the Student Council room for the rest of the school day. Enjolras ended up cuddled into Grantaire’s lap as they sat in one of the small, rickety chairs scattered around the room. They didn’t speak much, but they didn’t need to. As long as Enjolras felt happy, Grantaire was content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END!
> 
> Holy balls, thank you all so much for your support for this fic! I am trying to write a suitable epilogue for this but in all likelihood it won't happen for a while.


End file.
